


Rest Your Head, There's No Sense in Losing Sleep

by ohhelgawrites



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, its hard being an angel who has nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 02:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20520128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhelgawrites/pseuds/ohhelgawrites
Summary: He suddenly couldn’t breathe through the panic constricting his chest. A desperate thing, stealing the air from his lungs and shaking his entire being.Aziraphale knows nightmares can be difficult to cope with when you’re alone. Luckily, Crowley is there to help.





	Rest Your Head, There's No Sense in Losing Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _’Losing Me’_ by Gabrielle Aplin & JP Cooper
> 
> What can I say? I’m just a sucker for angsty Aziraphale and comforting Crowley.
> 
> Special mention to weatheredlaw’s wonderfully painful and beautiful fic [these three remain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237485) which is the epitome of Aziraphale angst and handles his panic and pain in the loveliest way. When I grow up I want to write like that!

He suddenly couldn’t breathe through the panic constricting his chest. A desperate thing, stealing the air from his lungs and shaking his entire being. He didn’t have breath enough to even shout, his throat tightening and his mouth moving wordlessly. He couldn’t _ reach him_. A bathtub filled with holy water sat just metres away, it’s presence jarring despite how innocuous a bathtub usually is. Desperate gold eyes searched for his and once they caught it was like time seemed to stop. Moments of millennia past in a heartbeat, the noise of the room fading and the world narrowing to those snake-like eyes that have always been a centre point of his universe. A wretched shout suddenly ripped from his throat and the moment was lost, the ominous cadence of disturbed water filling his senses, the golden irises vanishing behind tightly shut eyelids and and and-

Waking was like pushing through water to breach the surface when you know you’re running out of air; frantic and gruelling. Aziraphale could feel his whole body trembling and his hands shaking as he threw the covers back and heaved himself to the edge of the bed. There was sweat beading on his forehead and temples and he could feel it coating his back, making his nightshirt stick uncomfortably to his skin. He scrubbed a still quivering hand roughly over his face. Aziraphale slowly got his ragged breathing under control, but his heart continued to thunder in his chest. He looked over his shoulder at Crowley who was fast asleep, curled on his side with the covers wrapped tightly around him. His hand was laying where Aziraphale had just been, as if reaching for him. For a moment Aziraphale considered crawling over to Crowley and waking him. But he hesitated. Crowley looked so peaceful, he didn’t want to disturb him. Not with this.

Aziraphale pulled himself up onto unsteady feet and quietly as he could, he left the room, closing the door with a quiet snap. He headed to the bathroom first, splashing cold water onto his face in the hope of waking himself up. It worked for a moment, but his eyes were heavy still, his movements sluggish. With energy he didn't have, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and his night clothes vanished to be replaced with his usual slacks, waistcoat and jacket. Adorned in his everyday outfit, like an armour, Aziraphale felt slightly better. But not by much.

When Crowley had first suggested that Aziraphale join him when he went to bed, Aziraphale had never thought he himself would get into the habit of sleeping. But after weeks of seeing Crowley so peaceful, he wanted to give it a go. It took a while to get used to the feeling of losing consciousness, being so vulnerable for hours on end. At the beginning, Aziraphale often woke with a start after only half an hour or so of shut eye. Crowley would just smile and coax Aziraphale to unwind again, running a hand through blond curls and pressing butterfly kisses across his skin, “You have to _ relax_, Angel,”

What Crowley had failed to mention were dreams and nightmares. Angels and Demons weren’t supposed to be able to dream, but then they didn’t need to sleep either. Crowley- and now Aziraphale- were the definite minority in that case. But they had been living amongst humans for so long, that it was inevitable they end up with human-like traits. Dreams and nightmares didn’t happen often to Aziraphale, but when they did, they were intense and visceral. The first time Aziraphale dreamed (a perfectly lovely dream where he and Crowley had visited a _ ‘Heaven and Hell’ _ exhibition at the National Gallery, having quite the laugh at some of the representations), he woke up convinced that it had happened and it took a while for an amused Crowley to persuade him otherwise.

But nightmares were something Aziraphale detested with every fibre of his being. He couldn’t control them when they happened and he couldn’t make himself wake up either. But when he did wake, it took Aziraphale hours to tackle the acute reactions the fear and adrenaline had on his human form. The first time Aziraphale had a nightmare, he awoke in such a state of panic and despair that when Crowley tried to comfort him, he was convinced that Crowley was a figment of his imagination. It had seemed so _ real_. He avoided sleep for a whole month after that. And now, the same nightmare returns every now and then. No pattern, no rhyme or reason, it just happens. And even though Aziraphale knows what happens, appreciates that _ it’s not real_, he can’t help but wake up terrified.

Aziraphale slowly made his way down the stairs to the shop. It was far too early to open, what with the darkness of pre-dawn still cloaking the city in a shroud of calm and quiet, but Aziraphale had to do _ something _ to distract himself.

He lost himself to tasks around the bookshop, starting a project, but leaving it unfinished before moving onto something else. Aziraphale just couldn’t focus on anything. His head felt fuzzy and his ears were filled with a static white noise that muffled all other sounds around him. Aziraphale felt jittery and he couldn't stop his hands from continuously fidgeting and twisting together. He hated this feeling of restlessness. This feeling of needing to do something to occupy his mind but not having the attention span to achieve it.

Before Aziraphale realized, weak sunlight had begun to filter through the windows as the world outside woke up for a new day. He made his way to the door, but before he could take more than a handful of steps, a great splash halted him in his tracks. Too loud, raucous voices sounded from the other side of the window as soapy water splashed across the windows. Window cleaners.

But Aziraphale was already _ back there, _dark, foreboding and overcrowded. The jeering spectators on the other side of the glass making a tumultuous din as their excitement for death by execution reached fever pitch. It felt like his head was submerged under water, all noises becoming muffled and echoey, his own breath roaring in his ears. Aziraphale could feel his heart pounding in his chest, almost battering against his ribs. Gold eyes, panic and a shout of his name-

“Angel,”

-a hand on his shoulder he desperately tries to shrug off. Splashing water and shaking hands. He can’t get to him. Another cry-

“Angel?”

-he can’t save him, there’s nothing he can do. Another hand on his shoulder, tighter this time. Get away. Get away-

“Aziraphale!”

* * *

Crowley stretched, reaching across the expanse of bedding to pull Aziraphale closer. But when his hand touched nothing but cold sheets, he opened bleary eyes to find his angel gone. The weak, morning sunlight fell across where Aziraphale should be and Crowley pushed the covers back and jumped into action; his languid tiredness forgotten.

Aziraphale almost never left their bed before Crowley woke up; usually reading to pass the time away. The only instances were if he had suffered a nightmare. Crowley’s chest ached to think of Aziraphale waking; panicked and afraid.

When Aziraphale ever felt troubled or worried, he had a tendency to pull back from Crowley. He’d shrug off Crowley’s concern, wave away his worry with a quick smile and a;_ nothing to worry about, my dear_. At first, Crowley had been hurt by the dismissal, thinking Aziraphale didn’t trust him enough, or didn’t feel comfortable enough to open up to him. But the more it happened, Crowley came to realise that it was a pattern Aziraphale had fallen into that spanned millennia. A habit borne of fear and a need to protect. The night after the Armageddon’t, loose lipped and wine drunk, Aziraphale had whispered his deepest secret, blue eyes imploring Crowley to understand.

Throughout their arrangement, Aziraphale admitted that he had endeavoured to hide his true feelings and his heart; not to protect himself, but to protect Crowley. He kept Crowley at arms length- _ not to hurt you, you understand, dear boy?_\- but to keep him safe from Up There. Aziraphale had known how cruel the other angels could be, how malice and ignorant their view of right and wrong was. And had known deep down to his core that they would have destroyed Crowley if given half a chance; _ I couldn’t risk that, I couldn’t lose you_.

Crowley had reached for him then, his heart thudding painfully with a tenderness quite unbecoming a demon. A yearning for this ethereal creature who had decided to love _ him. _Aziraphale had looked so vulnerable and soft, a small, sweet smile on his face as he rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Six thousand years and suddenly they were right here together, on their own side.

The shop was quiet as Crowley hurried down the stairs, “Angel?”

There was no answer, which worried Crowley even more. The shop was filled with the glow of soft morning sun, the hubbub of the city just beginning to filter through. And as Crowley reached the heart of the store, he could see Aziraphale standing stock still in front of the door.

“Angel,”

No response.

But Crowley could hear Aziraphale’s ragged breathing, could see the tense line of his shoulders and his hands clenched into tight fists. Crowley hurried forward then, reaching for his angel as he called for him again.

As soon as Crowley’s hand made contact with Aziraphale’s shoulder, he flinched hard and staggered forward a step with a small cry. Crowley felt panic seize his chest,

“Angel?”

Crowley reached for him again but was ready for Aziraphale’s reaction this time. He gripped his shoulder harder and tried to turn Aziraphale to face him.

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale wrenched himself away from Crowley, losing his balance, his back hitting the nearest bookshelf. He was wide eyed and trembling, staring at Crowley as if he wasn't really there. Crowley held up his hands, palm side out and spoke with the softest voice he could manage, despite the trepidation coursing through his body,

“Angel. It’s me. You're okay.”

* * *

He could see him standing there, hands up in the universal sign of _ ‘I mean no harm’_. But he had just saw him pushed towards the bathtub, just saw him struggle to get free, just witnessed the jeering of the crowds of Hell. Those golden eyes had stared at him with a wild and hopeless look, begging to be helped, apologising for how things had come to pass.

Those very eyes looked at him now. Tight around the edges with worry, but filled with warmth and kindness and love. Their yellow glow a familiar solace.

Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly, willing himself back to the here and now. He felt exhausted suddenly. Bone-tired and weary. He let his legs give way underneath him and he sank to the floor, his back leaning heavily against the bookshelf. He kept his eyes closed and tried to regulate the breaths he didn’t even need. He felt Crowley move closer to kneel in front of him. Not touching, but there within arms reach. And isn’t that how it always goes? He needs Crowley and he’s always right there. Touching distance, a friendly, comforting presence by his side.

All was quiet in the shop once more, the window cleaners having moved on. And Aziraphale felt foolish. Scared by window cleaners washing his windows of all things. He gave a small, humourless huff and finally opened his eyes. Crowley was right there, waiting for Aziraphale to speak. He could see the worry etched into his face as Crowley’s eyes darted over Aziraphale’s features, searching.

“I’m fine, dear,” Aziraphale murmured roughly, the lie sounding unconvincing to his own ears.

“Like he- like _ somewhere_, you are,” Crowley replied reproachfully.

Aziraphale glanced down at his hands clasped together in his lap before looking back to Crowley, “No, I suppose you’re right,”

Crowley’s only response was to raise a disbelieving eyebrow that clearly said, _ yeah, no shit_.

Aziraphale let his head thunk back against the shelf behind him, staring unseeing to the ceiling above. He heard Crowley move to sit next to him, his impossibly long legs stretched out in front, a warm line against his side.

“I thought it would be easier, you know?” Aziraphale asked, apropos of nothing.

“What would be easier, Angel?” Crowley questioned, turning his head to look at him.

“This-” Aziraphale gestured vaguely around the shop and then between the two of them, before letting his hand drop back to his lap-“us, our own side,”

Crowley laughs, a cheerless bark of laughter, before answering, “Angel, I don’t think anything between us could be described as easy,”

Aziraphale turns to look at Crowley then, their shared six thousand years traversing between them, full of furtive glances, almost theres and pining hearts. A small rueful smile appears on his face.

“And anyway, an easy life? Very overrated. Wouldn’t recommend it,” Crowley continues sagely, a spark of mischief in his eyes, “Gotta keep you on your toes,”

“You certainly do that, my dear,” Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand and held on tight. An anchor in this mixed up world of sides and rules and nightmares. Crowley squeezed back, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“It could be easier if you talked about it. If you want?” Crowley shrugged nonchalantly (though he was anything _ but _ nonchalant).

“I-I know. I just-” Aziraphale sighed, frustrated, his free hand scrubbing over his face-“it’s silly really. It’s just a stupid nightmare,”

“Nightmares are far from stupid, Angel,”

“It’s you,”

“Me? Angel?”

Crowley looks slightly horrified, as if he thinks he’s the source of Aziraphale’s nightmares. As if he could ever be something so gruesome and horrifying to keep Aziraphale awake at night.

“No, not you. It’s about you,” Aziraphale turns to face Crowley, keeping a tight grip on his hand. He focuses on the collar of the t-shirt Crowley is wearing, sleep soft and well worn.

“We’re in hell. And there’s a bathtub filled with Holy Water, just like the trial,”

Aziraphale can see Crowley nod, but keeps his eyes fixed on his collar. If he can focus on that, he can get through this.

“And they- they have you. And I can’t get to you. And there’s so much noise and I...” he can feel his heart ratcheting up a few notches, the scene he's describing crystal clear in his mind.

“They’re dragging you towards the tub and I still can’t get to you. And we’re just looking at each other and I realise that this is it, I won’t see you again and I _can’t_ _get to you_!”

Crowley pulls Aziraphale into his arms, his onyx wings thrumming into existence and cocooning them. Aziraphale tucks his face into Crowley’s neck, suddenly realising his face is wet with tears. He wraps his own arms around Crowley’s middle, his hands finding purchase in the fabric of Crowley’s shirt and gripping for dear life. He can feel one of Crowley’s hands carding through his hair as the other rubs against his back, right where his wings would be. Crowley’s wings are a pleasant weight against his legs, keeping him grounded; Crowley is _ here _ , it was nothing but a nightmare. Aziraphale can hear him murmuring soft, sweet words into his hair, holding him closer still; _ I’m here, Angel. You’re safe. I’ve got you_.

* * *

They sit like that, an Angel wrapped in a Demon’s wings, until the sun is high in the sky. The shop is bright with it, a warmth suffusing every nook, the soothing scent of old books filling the air. They sit until Aziraphale’s tears have run dry and then some; soaking up each others presence like a lifeline. Taking joy in the comfort they afford one another. Crowley stretches his wings before sending them away and pulls back just far enough to look at his angel. He gently hooks a finger under Aziraphale’s chin, lifting his face to look at him.

“Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

“Temptation accomplished, my dear,”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ ohhelga


End file.
